


Bigger Than A Hexadecimal

by priorwalter



Series: Andreil Week 2019 [6]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Ballet Dancer Andrew, Christmas, Clumsy Neil, College AU, First Meeting, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Neil Josten, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-06-26 14:13:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19769902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/priorwalter/pseuds/priorwalter
Summary: The stranger was only three inches taller than Andrew and their hair was red on the shaved sides but dyed baby blue on the long, floppy top part. The blue dye brought out their stupidly sexy blue eyes. Their stupid fucking purple jean jacket was covered in pins with sayings like,Please use they/them pronouns for me!andFUCK OFF, and Andrew’s personal favourite,I fucked your dad last night.Andrew may have a problem on his hands.**Neil and Andrew are two of the few students left on campus during Christmas break at their tiny liberal arts college. Andrew is a gay disaster and Neil just wants to survive the Christmas break.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Song title from Binary by the Spook School. Part infinity of me projecting onto Neil. Yes, Andrew is a ballet dancer, but make no mistake, I know absolutely nothing about dance, much less any specific kind. This is set in some vague American place where they get snow.
> 
> Prompts: dance, holiday
> 
> This was supposed to be a oneshot but I just kept thinking of things I wanted to do with the fic so now it's multichapter. Updates whenever I feel like it! It's going to be a fluffy, silly little fic. I hope you enjoy!

Neil knows that going out in a snowstorm is never a good idea, but they were hungry, okay? They’re soaked to the bone, and to top it all off, the corner store was closed because of the blizzard. Now, they’re walking home empty-handed and freezing their ass off. They don’t have a proper winter jacket. It’s barely fit for autumn, really, but Neil is hesitant to spend too much on things that are not completely necessary. Besides, they like their coat; it’s a purple jean jacket with a thick sheepskin lining and covered in colourful pins.

Neil is also reluctant to give up the coat because it was the first thing they bought once they were granted freedom by the FBI. Giving up information about their father to the feds was helpful in numerous ways. They gave them a new name, easy access to testosterone, the promise of safety, and a gender marker that still doesn’t fit but is quite a bit better.

The blizzard doesn’t seem to be letting up; Neil knows from a winter spent in Montreal with their mother that snowstorms are quite a bit less fun than thunderstorms. Once the storm lets up, the snow will be waist-deep, no doubt. All the more reason to get home quickly. 

Suddenly, a truck comes out of nowhere. It’s driving much too fast for this weather; even in normal conditions, it would be dangerous. The truck just barely clips Neil and they hit the ground, but the truck doesn’t stop.

After the shock wears off, Neil stands up. The only place affected seems to be their ribs, which is lucky. Neil lives alone, so no one would be able to help them if they had a broken arm or leg. They poke gingerly at their ribs; it hurts, but nothing’s broken. 

Neil can’t walk home now. Not without taking a break for a while, at least. Ideally, they would call a cab, but they didn’t bring their phone with them. They don’t even have any friends who might notice they’re missing. Even hitchhiking is out of the question; it’s Christmas break, and every resident of the university is home with their families. Everyone except Neil.

Neil find the nearest place that looks like it has places to sit and wanders inside. They collapse onto one of the surprisingly nice chairs, mindful of their sore ribs, and peel off their soaked jacket. Their hair is long enough on top that it needs wringing out. The water is slightly blue due to their recent dye job. They don’t particularly care that they’re getting water all over the floor and the nice chairs. 

There’s no-one at the reception desk. Neil doesn’t know if that’s because of Christmas break or because of the storm. There seems to be someone here, though, because all of the lights are on and classical music blares somewhere far away.

Neil considers going back into the storm, but one glance at the whiteout stops them. Instead, they shrug on their jean jacket and follow the sound of the music; if someone is here playing that music, they might let Neil borrow their phone so they can call a cab. Most of the doors are closed, but they finally find the room with the music; it’s a dance studio.

There’s someone dancing. Ballet, Neil thinks. He’s blond and his muscles are not at all disguised by the loose clothing he’s wearing. He’s at least as short as Neil, probably shorter. After Neil stands in the doorway for a few seconds, the person stops once he finishes his… whatever he was doing. It might have been a pirouette. Neil can’t be sure. 

“What,” the person snaps. His face manages to be at once blank and menacing. 

“Can I use your phone?” Neil asks, unruffled by the stranger’s rudeness. 

The person scowls. “Why?”

“I forgot mine at home and I need to call a cab,” Neil explains. When the guy keeps staring, Neil adds, “I got hit by a car and I don’t really want to walk home.”

The stranger scoffs. “No cabs are going to be out in this weather, genius.” 

Neil sighs. They should have thought of that. “Right. Sorry.” They look around the studio. “Can I watch you dance?” 

“Why?” He asks. His tone isn’t cruel, but it’s emotionless enough that Neil doesn’t know what to think.

“Gonna be camped out here for a while,” Neil replies awkwardly. “It’s better than staring at the wall, I guess? Do you not like people watching you practice? I can go if you want.”

The person keeps staring for a moment, then shrugs. “Don’t make any noise.” He restarts the song playing on his phone and resumes dancing. Neil sits cross-legged on the ground beside the door and watches. It’s beautiful, sure, but Neil doesn’t really understand what’s going on. They appreciate the way the man’s body moves; Neil’s on the track team, but they could never be that flexible or graceful. 

Neil watches raptly. The blond practices the same routine for twenty more minutes and then changes the song to one with lyrics, but Neil doesn’t recognize it. He goes on for a half hour more before turning off his music and throwing his belongings into a duffel bag. He stops in the doorway and says, “I have to lock up. Get out.”

Neil does. The man starts to walk away after the door of the studio is locked and Neil follows forlornly. “Are you a lost puppy?” He asks in his bored monotone without looking back. 

Neil huffs. “I’m going into the lobby to sit until the storm blows over, asshole.” 

“It’s Andrew, actually,” the man, Andrew, says, a touch of sarcasm in his voice. Neil counts that as a victory.

“Okay,” Neil replies, just to be an asshole. Andrew doesn’t respond, though. Neil gingerly sits in the same chair as before, preparing for Andrew to leave without another word, but Andrew stops. 

“Do you need to go to the clinic.” When Andrew says it, it’s so flat that it’s barely a question. 

Neil shakes their head. “Just bruised ribs.”

“ _J_ _ust_ ,” Andrew echoes. He pauses and exhales sharply out his nose before he asks, “Do you need a drive home.” Again, there’s not enough intonation for it to be a question, but it sounds like it pains him to ask.

Neil narrows their eyes. Now that Andrew is no longer dancing and Neil can get a better look at him, something about him seems dangerous. They would never get in a car with a stranger, and something about Andrew seems even more dangerous. “No thanks.” 

Andrew puts a thumb and finger on the bridge of his nose like Neil’s giving him a headache. “I’m not going to kidnap you. Do you really plan on walking home like that?” He gestures toward Neil’s general person. They’re sitting awkwardly in the chair so as not to hurt their ribs. 

“Fuck you, I can walk,” Neil snaps. “Go away.” 

Andrew sighs like Neil is inconveniencing him greatly. “Die in the snowstorm, then. Idiot.” 

“Fuck off,” they hiss. “Leave me alone.”

Andrew raises one singular eyebrow. “Your shoe is untied. You’ll trip.”

Neil looks down and finds that Andrew is correct. They bend down to tie it, but it only serves as a painful reminder of their bruised ribs. Neil grits their teeth and finishes tying their shoes, going slowly because they know Andrew wants them to show weakness. “Better,” they say, forcefully making their voice even.

Andrew scoffs. “Have fun walking home.” He walks out with his duffle bag, leaving Neil alone. Neil thinks maybe they should have taken the free ride; they’re soaked to the bone and freezing, with bruised ribs to boot. The storm has calmed enough that the visibility has slightly improved, so Neil sets out. It won’t be a fun walk home, but it’s certainly better than the whiteout. They pull up the hood of their hoodie to shield themself against the buffeting winds, but it doesn’t do much since their hood is soaked through anyway.

They sigh. Hopefully Sir and King will cheer them up. 

**

Andrew speeds home despite the storm and throws himself onto his bed. He’s just found possibly the hottest person on Earth, and he was so much of an asshole he scared them off. Fuck God and karma and whatever else might be punishing Andrew right now. They were only three inches taller than Andrew and their hair was red on the shaved sides but dyed baby blue on the long, floppy top part. The blue dye brought out their stupidly sexy blue eyes. Their stupid fucking purple jean jacket was covered in pins with sayings like, _Please use they/them pronouns for me!_ and _FUCK OFF_ , and Andrew’s personal favourite, _I fucked your dad last night._

Andrew tries to distract himself with the new season of Brooklyn 99 he’s been putting off watching for months, but it doesn’t work. Fuck his eidetic memory and fuck that person’s thick thighs straining out of their soaked, worn-thin leggings. Fuck. 

Andrew may have a problem on his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally am In Love with this AU and I hope y'all love it as much as I do.

“Hello, Andrew,” Renee greets him. Her voice crackles over the spotty connection. “I heard you got quite the storm over there.” 

Renee is spending Christmas with her girlfriend Allison. They’re in Hawaii, and looking out the window of his dorm at the snowstorm, Andrew wishes he was too. “It’s still storming,” Andrew corrects.

“Be safe. Stay inside until it passes,” Renee advises. “How are you doing? Not too lonely over there, I hope?”

“I met this person today,” Andrew says awkwardly. “They came into the studio to shelter from the snow. I let them watch me dance for a while.”

“That’s wonderful. Did you talk to them?” Renee knows how rarely Andrew lets anyone see him practice, but something about this stranger made him put his guard down.

Andrew takes a few seconds to word this correctly. “I did talk to them, but it didn’t go well.”

“I’m sorry, Andrew,” Renee says.

“It’s because you’re an asshole, Minyard,” Allison shouts from the background. 

“Fuck off, Reynolds,” Andrew snarls. He sighs. “They were really hot. Blue hair and blue eyes and they had this stupid goddamn purple jean jacket and their thighs were fucking massive, Renee. God. Like tree trunks.” Andrew stares up at the ceiling, taking a moment to recall said thighs. “I scared them off, though.”

“Maybe you could find them again and apologize?” Renee suggests with a teasing lilt. She knows how impossible it is for Andrew to seek out a stranger for something so stupid as an apology. “You might run into them again anyway. There aren’t many students who stay on campus for Christmas.”

“I guess,” Andrew sighs. Renee replies, but it’s fuzzy and unclear so Andrew says, “The storm’s messing with my signal,” and hangs up. 

Andrew sighs and collapses onto his bed. He opens a novel on his Kindle, but his mind keeps returning to the stranger’s bright blue eyes.

**

Late Christmas Eve, Andrew finds himself at McDonald’s. He has food in his dorm, but something about being alone at home on Christmas Eve makes him feel sad and pathetic. McDonald’s is only the barest step up from that, but nothing else is in his budget after spending money on Christmas gifts. 

The bored and unhappy woman behind the counter gives him his crispy chicken snackwrap. Andrew looks around for the most secluded empty table when he hears a violent cough. He follows the sound to— 

It can’t be.

Purple jean jacket, bright blue hair and brighter blue eyes, and thighs thick enough to crush Andrew’s skull. God or whoever must be on Andrew’s side. All he can think of to say, though, is, “I wonder how you got sick.” Andrew's eidetic memory tells him that there is no real link between Rhinovirus and cold weather, but he needs a way to make fun of them. 

The person glares at him, but the menacing effect they were surely aiming for is negated by their red nose and glazed-over eyes. “Fuck off,” they say, but it sounds more like, “Fugoff.” They take a defiant bite of one of their chicken nuggets. 

Andrew sits down in their booth. “Why are you alone on Christmas break?”

The stranger’s ineffectual glare hardens into an aggressive scowl. “Why do you care?”

Andrew shrugs. “Conversation. Would you rather I comment on the weather?” He gives a meaningful glance to the soaked jean jacket. “I think you already know it’s snowing out.” 

The person continues to glare for long enough that Andrew begins to think he made a mistake, but then the stranger says, “I’m Neil. Why are you alone on Christmas break?”

“I don’t need to book any of the rooms at the dance studio because I’m the only one using them,” Andrew replies, though this is not entirely true. He didn’t want to invade anyone else’s Christmas celebrations; Nicky has the Klose family, Aaron has Katelyn, and Kevin has his real father, finally. The dance studio excuse, while mostly untrue, is not technically a lie. 

“That’s pathetic,” Neil says. They take a sip of their soda but they start choking on the drink as a coughing fit overtakes them. They continue on, voice rough, “You have a family and you didn’t go home?” 

Andrew cocks his head. “You don’t? No friends to take you in?”

“Fuck you, asshole,” Neil says, picking up their tray. 

“Wait, I’m—” Andrew’s voice breaks. “Sorry,” he finishes lamely. Why the fuck is he apologizing to a stranger? 

Neil puts their tray back down but rolls their eyes as they say, “Real genuine, fuckwad.” It’s then that Andrew notices that Neil has a thin line of white eyeliner on. It looks so attractive that Andrew chokes on his Sprite. Neil says drily, “Are you getting sick too?”

“I do have a family,” Andrew finds himself confessing out of nowhere after a few long minutes of both of them eating their food in silence. “They just all have their own families now.” 

Neil rolls their eyes again, so dramatically Andrew finds himself feeling scolded. “You’re what, twenty? You’ll be fine, edgelord. At least you have people.” They finish their last McNugget and stand up. “Hurry up, let’s do something.” 

Andrew devours the last of his snackwrap and stares at Neil all the while. Now that they’re standing up, Andrew has a better view of their hideous outfit: heavy, bright red combat boots with army green workout-material leggings covered in too many decorative zippers. Beneath their purple jean jacket is an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, and beneath that is a worn-out Neutral Milk Hotel t-shirt. Their thighs look, like before, absolutely massive and their ass, though slightly covered up by the long Hawaiian shirt, is impeccable. 

As Andrew gets rid of his garbage, he comments, “You don’t look like a hipster, you know.” 

Neil looks over at him, eyebrows knitted in confusion. “What?”

Andrew nods at their shirt. “Neutral Milk Hotel band t-shirt? C’mon.” 

Neil shakes their head. “Oh, I thought it was just random words. Weird,” they say, as if a regular person would buy a shirt with random words on it. They look up at Andrew with suspicion. “Doesn’t that make you the hipster for recognizing it?” 

“Shut up,” Andrew says. “Where are we going?” 

They end up in a snowy, fenced off area that a sign boasts to be a mini-putt course. They can’t even steal anything to play thanks to the snow, but Neil leads them there anyway. They collapse into the thick, unbroken snow and start making a snow angel. Andrew lies down beside them, thankful for his thick winter jacket. South Carolina did not prepare him for Northern winters. 

“You’re so boring. You wear all black and you won’t even make a snow angel,” Neil says. Their voice implies that this is the most offensive insult on Earth, and coming from Neil, Andrew feels like it might be. Something about Neil makes him feel _emotions_ and he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

“What’s wrong with all black,” Andrew mutters, but he starts making a snow angel. “At least I know how to dress myself.”

Neil sighs. “Fuck off. You don’t know anything about me.” 

Andrew stares up at the polluted sky. “I know you don’t have a family.” 

“I know you do have one but you clearly have some self worth problems because you don’t want to spend time with them,” Neil retorts. “Doesn’t mean I know you.” They start coughing, so they sit up and hack into their arm. Their face is red and their eyes watery. 

Andrew sits up too. “So tell me about you.” 

Neil collapses back into the snow, exhausted by their coughing fit. “Why?”

“You don’t have any friends, idiot. You could use one.”

“Wow, asshole, very kind of you to offer your charity, to me, the friendless loser,” Neil snarls. They turn away from Andrew into the snow, ruining their snow angel. 

Andrew scoffs. “That’s not what I meant.” Neil doesn’t answer, so after a long silence, Andrew says, “My favourite colour is purple.” 

“Not black?” Neil asks. “Why do I care?” 

“It’s a game,” Andrew says. “Trading truths.” 

Neil hums and sits up. They give Andrew a scrutinizing glare. “Gray,” they finally say. “I like gray.” 

Andrew is surprised, but he shouldn’t be. Neil is a mess of contradictions. “I think healthy food was created by the devil himself.” 

Neil makes a face like they’ve sucked on a lemon. “I hate sweets and I love fruit but vegetables are gross.” They think for a moment. “I don’t know anything about popular culture.”

Andrew counters, “I know too much about popular culture because my cousin informs me about every detail of the Kardashians’ life.” 

Neil cocks their head. “Who’s the Kardashians?”

“You can’t be serious.” Neil doesn’t reply, which is answer enough. They keep exchanging lighthearted facts about themselves until Neil says, “I’m afraid of therapists. I don’t trust them but everyone says I need one.” 

Andrew pauses to give the statement the weight it deserves. “I’ve seen too many therapists,” he admits. “But they’ve been good for me.” Neil gives him an evaluating look. “I was in juvie,” Andrew confesses. 

Neil nods like that makes sense. “I’ve committed a lot of crimes but I got pardoned,” they say, and then they look at Andrew with a twinkle in their eyes. “That’s a government secret, Andrew, so don’t tell anyone.” Their tone is light but something about their voice makes Andrew feel cold inside. Something about that turns him on. Neil’s icy blue eyes bore into Andrew’s. 

“Pinky swear,” Andrew says breathlessly after a moment. 

They narrow their eyes. “What?” 

“You don’t know what a pinky swear is?”

Neil shakes their head. Something in their face changes, and Andrew wonders if he made Neil upset. (What an odd feeling. He never cares if he upsets people.) They clearly had a rough childhood, and maybe Andrew rubbing in that they don’t know what seems like a completely normal thing to Andrew made them angry. Neil says quietly, “I want to go home.” 

“I’ll drive you,” Andrew offers. “It’s the middle of the night. You aren’t walking home.”

Neil scowls. “I can walk.” 

“Neil.” 

“Fine. I live in Fox Tower.”

Andrew’s eyes widen. “Me too. Funny.” 

Neil happens to live on the same floor as Andrew, though all the way down the hall. “I’m not very social. That’s probably why we’ve never met,” they explain, voice challenging as if they expect Andrew to argue. 

Andrew just shrugs. “Me neither. Good night. Ask Santa for a proper winter coat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, catch me at jonathansimz.tumblr.com. I know I made fun of Neutral Milk Hotel in this chapter but please listen to King of Carrot Flowers Part 1 by them because it's a bop. Comment, kudos, etc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> random note, nicky is aged up in this au and More years older than the twins. sorry this one took so long! lots of things came at me at once. enjoy!

Andrew is trying his best to end his conversation with Nicky that has been going on for nearly an hour. He’s getting very close to hanging up while Nicky is mid-sentence. “Yes, I’m sure it arrived,” Andrew says, referring to the gift Nicky’s husband Erik mailed him. 

“Go check! If you don’t open it on Christmas you’ll ruin the holiday,” Nicky urges him. 

Andrew sighs. “I’m on my way now— what the fuck?” The reason for this expletive is lying face down on the stairs: Neil. 

Neil sits up and looks around. They make eye contact with Andrew and glare before flipping him off. 

“Gotta go, bye,” Andrew says into his phone, and then raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Neil. “Come here often?” It’s mostly a mockery of their situation, but Andrew half-hopes Neil will take it as a genuine pickup line. 

Neil glares. “Shut the fuck up.” They cradle their wrist against their chest and start to stand up with the help of their good hand, but the slippery ground makes them fall back on their ass. Andrew sticks out a hand and Neil stares at it for a second too long before taking it. Andrew gives their hand a tug as he starts to walk down the stairs before letting go. He almost wants to grab Neil’s hand again, missing the contact, but suppresses the urge. 

“Where are you going?” Neil asks curiously. 

“I am going to pick up my mail, and then we are going to the clinic,” Andrew says, unimpressed. He stops a few steps down when he sees that Neil isn’t following him. 

“No,” Neil says. 

Andrew rolls his eyes. “Idiot.”

Neil narrows their eyes and backs up minutely. Andrew notices. “I don’t want to go to the clinic.” 

Andrew glances at Neil’s reddened wrist. “What if it’s broken?” 

“It’s not,” they assure him. “Trust me.” 

Andrew sighs. “Then we’re going to the drugstore to get you some bandages and a sling. My Christmas present to you.” 

Neil’s glare hardens. “I don’t need a sling. Slings are for cowards.” Andrew then remembers how accident-prone Neil obviously is, even after knowing them for only a few days. He wonders if Neil has medical supplies in their dorm and that’s why they are resisting.

Andrew levels them with a scowl. “I’ll kill you.”

Neil grins, false and bright. “Far worse than you have tried and failed.”

Andrew gives them a contemplative look at this, but he says nothing more. Neil follows him to the lobby of their building where Erik’s gift is waiting for him in a nondescript brown package. Andrew then leads them to his car. Neil hops into the passenger seat with a casual air that surprises Andrew. They’re usually so twitchy; getting into Andrew’s car should, by all accounts, register to them as a threat or dangerous. 

“What’s in the box?” Neil asks curiously, looking into the back seat where it sits. 

“From my cousin’s family. Him and his husband live in Germany,” Andrew replies, glancing over at Neil. He doubts Neil is homophobic if the pins on their jacket are truthful, but Andrew knows from experience that people are not always what they seem.

“That’s nice,” is all Neil says. Andrew wonders if anyone gave Neil any gifts this Christmas.

The disgruntled cashier at the drugstore doesn’t blink at them, despite how strange it must be for them to visit on Christmas morning. Andrew helps Neil with the bandage in the car and glares at them until they put on the sling. 

“I’m cold now. It’s your fault,” Neil says, referencing the fact that they can no longer put their left arm through their jacket sleeve thanks to the sling. 

“That jacket wouldn’t warm you up anyway,” Andrew admonishes. “No Christmas money to buy a new coat?”

Neil looks away. “It’s a perfectly serviceable jacket. I don’t see why you’re so interested in my clothing,” they say haughtily, or try to. Their sentence is interrupted by a violent sneeze. Andrew stares for a moment. Neil asks, “No ‘bless you’? How rude.” 

“I’m not interested in your clothing,” Andrew corrects. “If you die of exposure, I warned you.” 

Neil shrugs. The motion is oddly fluid on their broad shoulders. Andrew’s mouth feels abruptly dry. “I’ve survived worse.” They touch the dark scar on their cheekbone. Truthfully, Andrew barely noticed the scar; it makes sense that they have it, given the little tidbits of their past they’ve given away, and it’s far less distracting than their disastrous fashion sense.

Today, Neil is wearing neon pink sweatpants with the word _CREEPY_ written on the ass. A long-sleeved shirt patterned with something that looks like the patterns from old bowling alley floors is beneath the purple jacket. They’re also wearing fingerless gloves, coloured a purple darker than their jacket. Andrew most definitely ogled their ass while they walked ahead of him into the drugstore, still magnificent despite the unflattering, stretched-out material of their sweatpants. 

“How did you trip _up_ the stairs?” Andrew asks suddenly.

Neil scowls. “It doesn’t matter.” 

Andrew sighs dramatically. “Tell me.”

“Not for free,” Neil says. “Trade for it.”

Andrew feels impressed with Neil’s stubbornness. He thinks for a moment, trying to call to mind a memory about falling or an accident that doesn’t have unpleasant connotations. “When I first moved in with my cousin, I tripped over my shoelaces and sprained my ankle. I didn’t want to tell anyone about how it really happened so I said I got hit by an angry cyclist.”

Neil’s eyes crinkle in a half-grin. “Did they believe you?” 

Andrew makes a see-saw motion with his hand. “At school, they did. My cousin and my brother didn’t.” 

Neil’s face falls, but they quickly arrange their expression into something more neutral. Andrew is reminded of what they said the night before: _“You’re what, twenty? You’ll be fine, edgelord. At least you have people.”_ Neil says, “I was going to check my mail, but I realized I forgot to feed my cats before I left so I was running up the stairs.”

Andrew is immediately curious about their cats, but they’re back in the parking lot for Fox Tower. Andrew parks and says, “You can check your mail now.” 

Neil shrugs, and it’s a mockery of the attractive way they’d done it before. This time, they look sad and curled in on themself. “It’s fine.” 

“What were you expecting to find?” Andrew asks bluntly. 

“It’ll cost you,” Neil warns. When Andrew nods, they say, “I was hoping…” they trail off, lost in thought for a moment. “I have one living family member. He might have sent something if he figured out where I am.” Before Andrew can reply to that, open the door and jump out of the car. “Bye, Andrew. I need to feed my cats.” 

“Wait,” Andrew calls after them. “Come over after.” He’s not sure where the spur-of-the-moment invitation came from; Andrew is not one for kindness or charity. But there’s something about Neil’s lost blue eyes. 

Neil turns around. “Why?” 

“You have to ask me your question,” Andrew replies.

Neil pauses for a moment and nods in affirmation before hightailing it back into the building. Andrew unabashedly watches their ass as they go. 

  
  
  


Neil knocks on the door to Andrew’s dorm ten minutes later. The godforsaken purple jean jacket has disappeared and is now replaced with a worn-looking, much too big cable-knit sweater. It’s cream-coloured and looks soft to the touch. Not that Andrew wants to touch it.

Neil makes themself comfortable on one of Andrew’s beanbags. They stare up at Andrew expectantly and gesture toward the empty beanbag. Andrew notes with satisfaction that the sling is still on. He was worried— well, he suspected Neil might have taken the thing off while they were in their dorm. He sits down in the other beanbag. 

“Why didn’t you want to see any of your family on Christmas?” Neil asks. “No cop outs.” 

Andrew scowls, but their stupid eyes and stupid face are too _much_ for him to not answer genuinely. “My brother is with his girlfriend and her family right now, and I can’t stand Katelyn,” he explains. “My cousin Nicky is married and goes home to his husband every holiday. He moved here from Germany to become Aaron and I’s legal guardian after our mother died. It was hard enough for him to deal with us for all those years before.”

Neil rolls their eyes. “So you don’t want to bother him anymore. _I’ll_ go home to see Nicky’s family. He’d probably let me, if he took your sorry ass in. I’m sorry your family’s all moving on, but come on, why would you think they wouldn’t want to see you?”

Andrew gives Neil a flat look. Have they met Andrew? “It’s less annoying to stay here,” he finally says. “And don’t forget about the empty studios.” 

“I want to watch you dance,” Neil says suddenly. “Can I?” 

Andrew shakes his head. “Tomorrow,” he promises, because there’s a warm, soft air blanketing the dorm, and dance seems inconsequential when Neil is here in his apartment with their too-big sweater and ridiculous hair. 

“I want to trade more truths,” Neil says, raking a hand through their unruly blue hair. 

“Okay.” 

“What’s your major?”

Andrew frowns. “You don’t have to trade for that,” he says. “You don’t have to trade for conversation.” He is well aware of how ironic that is coming from him, but Neil doesn’t know any better.

Neil’s eyes dart around the room, looking everywhere but at Andrew. They pull on the cuffs of their sweater with their uninjured hand. “Okay,” they say, sounding confused. Andrew thinks back to the day before, when Neil didn’t know what a pinky swear was. It paints a dark picture. 

“I’m majoring in criminal justice,” Andrew says.

Neil nods, like that makes sense. Andrew is briefly overcome with the urge to throttle Neil and ask them what they think of Andrew, why they think they know Andrew well enough for criminal justice to make sense for him, and if they’ve noticed Andrew’s eyes following them in a decidedly unfriendly way. He bites down the urge and lets Neil speak. They reply, “I’m majoring in math.” 

“Math,” Andrew echoes, because of course Neil is majoring in math. “You can’t be real.” 

Neil pouts at that; it’s sickeningly adorable. “I’m perfectly real.” 

Andrew glares. “Idiot. Follow me.” He leads Neil to his bedroom, where there’s a photo framed on his nightstand of himself, Aaron, Nicky, Renee, Dan, Matt, Allison, and Kevin. He points at it, and Neil stares with wonder. It doesn’t take long for Andrew to figure out what has them so entranced; everyone in the photo (except Andrew) is smiling or laughing. Dan is in Matt’s arms, and Allison is kissing Renee on the cheek. Even Aaron has a small smile. 

“Why are you showing me this?” Neil asks. They sit on Andrew’s bed as they keep staring at the photograph. 

“They’re all fucked up,” Andrew says haltingly. “And they’re weird and annoying and I hate them. But they’re all happy.” _And you can be too,_ Andrew adds silently, but the look on Neil’s face as their eyes dance across the photo says that they understand. 

“Not you?” Neil asks, finally tearing their eyes away from the picture. 

Andrew shrugs. “Does it matter?” 

Neil frowns. “Yes.” 

“I’m getting there,” Andrew says, and Neil grins blindingly.

“One day,” Neil sighs, and then they lie down on Andrew’s bed. This strikes Andrew as strange and invasive before he remembers that Neil doesn’t seem to have any knowledge of social etiquette. He considers making Neil get up, but they look so pretty: blue hair arranged around their head on Andrew’s pillow like an angel, eyes half-closed as they stare up at him. Their injured arm lays across their chest delicately. Andrew, against his better judgement, lies down beside them. 

  
  
  


Andrew awakens hours later to find Neil sleeping beside him; Neil is as far away as they could possibly be while staying on the bed. They and Andrew had talked in hushed undertones about everything and nothing for hours before Neil drifted off. Andrew followed soon after, oddly unbothered about having someone else in his bed. 

Late afternoon light filters in through the blinds, casting a heavenly light on Neil. Their golden, freckled skin looks tantalizing. Andrew wants to capture this moment in time forever. 

He considers getting up and checking his phone, which he left in the living room; it’s Christmas day, and he’s definitely missed some calls or texts. He finds that he doesn’t much care. Instead, he takes one last look at Neil’s curled up sleeping form and goes back to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can i stop myself from making this au anything more than soft and fluffy? no sir. also, neil definitely had bandages and medical supplies in their dorm, they just secretly wanted to spend more time with andrew.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Sorry about the wait. School beat me up and then I had a lot of other projects and life in general. You know the drill. Anyway, thanks for all your patience; I promised this fic wouldn't be abandoned! I do love this AU beyond belief, I don't think I could let it go if I tried.
> 
> This chapter ended up being like twice as long as the others? Whoops? Anyway, enjoy!
> 
> ALSO! The wonderful DeyaAmeya (andreil-minyasten on tumblr) made [some beautiful art](https://andreil-minyasten.tumblr.com/post/187053373051/i-was-reading-beetlejeuse-s-amazing-fanfic) for this AU! Go look at it and reblog it right now or else!

Andrew knocks on Neil’s door. It’s noon, and Andrew only got out of bed forty minutes ago after staying up so late with Neil the night before. Neil left Andrew’s dorm at around three, explaining they had to be up early for their morning run, which Andrew thought was positively insane. 

“What’s up?” Neil asks. They sport startlingly normal gray joggers with a highlighter-green tank top. There’s a scrunchie on their right wrist despite it having no obvious use to them. A cat makes a break for Andrew, but Neil picks it up and cradles it against their chest. 

“You wanted to watch me dance,” Andrew says, hoping Neil didn’t change their mind. 

Their eyes brighten. “One second, let me get dressed.” Then, they slam their door in Andrew’s face. 

It reopens only a few minutes later, revealing Neil wearing the ever-present purple jean jacket, as well as washed-out jeans rolled up at the cuffs with rips all the way up the legs, revealing fishnets underneath. Their shirt is a purple and yellow flannel that hurts Andrew’s eyes. Like all of Neil’s terrible clothes, it shouldn’t make them look as attractive as it does, but Andrew’s mouth dries up anyway. Neil grins blindingly. “Come on, let’s go.” 

“Excited, are we,” Andrew says in a monotone. 

“Just one thing. My shoes are untied,” Neil points out with a wry smile. 

“And?”

They wiggle their injured wrist. “I can’t tie it, I’m incapacitated. Do you want me to trip over my laces and die, Andrew? Is that what you want?”

Andrew sighs and drops his bag onto the ground. “I’ll kill you,” he mutters before crouching down. 

Neil survives the trip to the car, somehow. Having them in the passenger seat of the Maserati is already uncomfortably familiar to Andrew, despite how new and strange it should be. Neil is a distracting presence; their colourful outfit keeps drawing Andrew’s eyes, and they seem to be constantly in motion. They tap their fingers and bop their head to a beat only they can hear. Their lively blue eyes flicker between the windshield and their window and the gearshift and Andrew and whatever else catches their attention. It doesn’t help that their stupidly muscular thighs look hot on the leather seats. 

Andrew hopes he doesn’t crash the car.

Luckily, they make it to the studio in one piece. Andrew leads Neil to his preferred room, and while Andrew fiddles with the music on his phone, Neil sits on the floor in front of the mirrored wall and takes a white tube out of their pocket. 

The fucking white eyeliner.

“Christ,” Andrew mutters to himself, just quietly enough that Neil shouldn’t hear. 

Once Neil finishes with their eyeliner (in an impressively short amount of time) and Andrew finishes warming up, he settles on an old routine that feels familiar and safe like a worn-in sweater. It’s not particularly impressive; it hasn’t been challenging in a long time. Still, Neil watches, rapt. The feel of their sharp eyes on him makes him want to push harder, to do better. The old routine feels new beneath Neil’s careful gaze. Andrew loves dancing; he cares about it as much as he can care about anything, yet it’s been a long time since he felt like this. 

After the first song ends, Andrew goes back to practicing a new dance he’s been working on for a few weeks. It’s rough and unpolished, and watching the repetitive practising must be hell for Neil, but they still sit, enraptured, beneath the barre. Andrew dances until his feet ache, until he feels like there’s nothing and no one on Earth but him and Neil.

More accurately, Andrew dances until his phone starts ringing.

He tries to ignore it, but once the ringtone stops, he can’t get back into it; he relents when it starts blaring again. His phone tells him it’s Matt. He answers with a sigh of despair. 

“Hey, Andrew, merry Christmas,” Matt greets him. “What’s up?” 

“I’m at the studio,” Andrew replies. 

“Cool,” Matt says, “cool cool cool. You’re still coming to Wymack’s tonight, right?” 

Wymack, Dan’s adopted father and their university’s exy coach, is having Christmas dinner for himself, Kevin, his friend and team nurse Abby, and their friend Betsy, who happens to be Andrew’s therapist. Matt and Dan spent Christmas morning as well as the days preceding Christmas with Matt’s mom, but they came back to see Dan’s father for the day. Andrew is invited, but he was planning on bailing at the last minute. Now, though, he looks over at Neil; their words from the other day: _You have a family and you didn’t go home?_

“Can I bring someone?” Andrew blurts out, avoiding making eye contact with Neil. 

Matt takes a moment to reply. “I mean, sure, but why? Who?” 

“Their name is Neil. They wouldn’t be doing anything otherwise,” Andrew explains. This is not quite the truth; he doesn’t really care about people being alone on Christmas in general, but something about leaving Neil to go spend time with his other friends feels wrong. Somehow.

Or maybe Andrew just wants to spend more time with them. 

“I’ll let Wymack know,” Matt says after another hesitant pause. “I’m glad you made a friend?” he says, inflecting it like a question. Andrew hangs up. He finally makes himself look at Neil, but before he can explain himself, Neil focuses a glare sharper than a dagger on him. 

“Hey, asshole, I’m not going to your Christmas dinner,” they snap. “I _wouldn’t be doing anything otherwise,_ fuck you. I haven’t spent all this time with you just to get dragged along to a stranger’s party out of whatever obligation you’re feeling because of everything I’ve told you. Take your pity somewhere it’s wanted.” 

They stand up and start to storm out of the room, but Andrew calls out, “Wait.” Neil stops and tilts their head toward him. Andrew’s throat suddenly feels dry. “I… don’t go.” 

Neil rolls their eyes and starts to leave again, so Andrew says, quietly enough that he’s not sure if they will hear, “I wanted… I want you to come. Because I like you.” 

Neil stops and turns around. They raise an eyebrow. “Was that so hard?” 

Andrew scoffs. “Shut up.” 

Andrew is finished in the studio, so he packs up and takes a shower in the changerooms before leaving. Once they’re almost home, Neil asks, “Do you want to meet my cats?”

Andrew can’t remember the last time that he wanted something as badly as he wants to see the inside of Neil’s dorm, but all he says is, “Sure.” He has an image to uphold, after all. “Why are you allowed cats in school residence?”

Neil seems to deflate. They stare intently out the window, lost in thought for so long that Andrew begins to think they might not answer. Finally, they confess, “I need them. They’re, um, therapy cats. I had to get special permission.” 

“What are their names?” Andrew asks. He watches from the corner of his eye as Neil seems to relax at Andrew’s non-reaction to their confession. 

“Sir and King,” Neil says proudly. “Short for King Fluffkins and Sir Fat Cat McCatterson.” At Andrew’s unimpressed look, they explain, “They got named at the shelter and I couldn’t think of anything else, so eventually Sir and King just grew on me.”

They arrive at Fox Tower and make the trek upstairs to Neil’s dorm. Neil unlocks it and opens the door slowly, careful to keep the cats inside. They shut the door quickly behind Andrew and scoop one of the cats into their arms, carefully so as not to jostle their bad wrist; the cat is huge and fluffy. “This is King,” Neil says. They rub their face in King’s soft looking fur before beginning the search for Sir. 

Andrew doesn’t know what he expected from Neil’s dorm, but it wasn’t this: empty. There’s nothing on the walls and their bedsheets are boring and white; their desk has some messily stacked books and that’s all. Their dorm is a little bigger than Andrew’s, probably to accommodate the cats, but there is minimal furniture and seemingly no personal effects except for some cat toys and a cat tree. 

A loud meow sounds from around the corner, and Andrew finds Neil sitting on the floor, King in their lap and Sir hiding in a pile of Neil’s clothes.

“Shut up,” Neil mutters to their cat. “I need those, you know.” They tug on the fabric beneath sir, but the cat doesn’t budge. Neil twists around to face Andrew. “This is Sir. He’s not very friendly with strangers, but she is,” they say, gesturing to King. As if she were listening to their conversation, King jumps out of Neil’s lap and sniffs at Andrew’s legs. He sits down, copying Neil.

“Oh, you don’t have to sit,” Neil says. “I just like being at the same level as them.” 

Andrew finds this statement endlessly amusing, but he offers no response beyond a shrug. He lets King lick his fingers, staring into her big green eyes. She purrs and butts her head into his palm. Andrew wonders if the school would let him get a cat. He pets King idly and watches Neil coax Sir into moving off of the clothes. Instead, Sir jumps onto Neil and climbs onto their shoulders. Andrew feels his heart melt, just a little. 

They play with the cats for long enough that Andrew falls in love with them, but eventually, they get tired of Andrew and Neil and hide under the bed.

“I am going to help you decide what you’re wearing tonight,” Andrew announces. “You look like a disaster.” 

Neil scowls. “You’re so mean. I look fine.” 

Andrew almost agrees, but he holds his tongue. He gives Neil’s outfit another inspection (though this inspection is mostly a cover for checking them out) and says, “The pants can stay, but that’s it. I don’t know how or where you found a purple and yellow flannel and I don’t want to.” 

Andrew mostly likes the pants because he can see Neil’s glorious thighs through the rips and fishnets, but he also admits that they are a nice statement piece. This seems to go right over Neil’s head even though Andrew thought he was rather obvious about the checking-out thing, and they say, “Oh, I’m glad _something’s_ good enough for you, princess.” 

“Can I look through your closet?” Andrew asks, ignoring Neil’s snarky remark. Neil nods, and Andrew opens the closet almost hesitantly. Immediately, he is hit with a rainbow of colour and headache-inducing patterns. There seems to be no solid-colour shirts, or even any black ones. (Well, there are a few that are partially black; Andrew’s least favourite is a zebra-striped t-shirt where instead of white stripes, there is neon green and yellow.)

He finally decides on a very long, light blue hoodie with a bright yellow logo on the front that Andrew doesn’t recognize. The cuffs and sweater strings are the same bright yellow, and there is some writing down the sleeves. It’s offensive and painful to Andrew’s eyes, but it will match with the fishnets and jeans the best. Neil takes one look at the sweater and rolls their eyes. “That one’s so boring. But fine, I guess.” They think for a moment before their eyes widen with glee. 

“What,” Andrew snaps, already afraid.

Neil grins. “If you choose what I wear, then I get to pick something for you.”

Andrew groans, but he knows he’s not getting out of this. That is how he ends up at Wymack’s house wearing his usual black jeans and a cherry red sweater. The first thing Dan says when she opens the door for them is, “Andrew isn’t wearing all black? It’s a Christmas miracle.” Andrew just glares at her. Dan sighs and continues, “You must be Neil! Come in, we’re all excited to meet you. Andrew doesn’t make friends very often.” 

Neil follows Dan and Andrew inside, kicking off their boots at the door. They seem to shrink under all of the attention. Andrew begins to wonder if he has made a mistake until Neil runs into Matt, who greets them like a golden retriever. Neil has a similar shine in their eyes when they say, “Hi, Matt, nice to meet you.” Their words sound stilted and awkward, but Andrew has watched Neil (he is _not_ obsessive, thank you very much) enough to know when they look comfortable. 

Neil disappears into the kitchen with Matt, and Andrew finds his way to Bee’s side. She greets him with a warm smile. “Merry Christmas, Andrew. I hope you’ve been keeping busy; I know it was a hard decision to stay here for the holidays.” She says this with a knowing smile and a glance at the mop of blue hair in the kitchen.  
  


“Shut up,” Andrew mutters. “It’s been… nice. I guess.” 

“That’s good. You look happy.” 

They talk until Wymack announces that it’s time for dinner. There isn’t enough room for everyone at the dinner table, so the food gets set up in the kitchen and everyone takes a plate, buffet-style, before crowding into the living room. Neil is crammed between Andrew and Matt, but they are careful not to touch either of them. Andrew appreciates this, but it makes him even more intrigued.

“So, Andrew’s mysterious new friend, where are you from?” Dan asks. 

“Phoenix,” Neil replies, “but I moved around a lot.” 

Dan hums. “So you’re used to the cold?” When Neil nods, she grins. “Andrew wasn’t ready. Last year he came without a winter coat.”

“I don’t have a winter coat,” Neil says. “It doesn’t really get that cold this far south so I don’t see the need.” 

Dan’s eyes widen. Before she can say anything, though, Matt says, “Neil, I will buy you a winter coat for Christmas. How are you even alive? Also, south?” 

Neil shrugs, uncomfortable at the attention. They pick at their potatoes and avoid replying. Andrew knows that Neil lived in Canada for a while, but it feels wrong to try and explain that for them when they want so badly for the group’s focus to be somewhere else. Abby picks up the conversation and Neil eats in silence for a while. 

Eventually, Dan says, “Kevin and I are going to see the new Star Wars movie tomorrow. Does anyone want to come? I heard it sucked.” 

There are noises of assent. Matt says, “Neil?” Andrew shouldn’t be surprised at the speed that Neil has been assimilated into the group, but it makes him feel warm all the same. 

Neil shakes their head. “I haven’t seen the first one.” 

This garners some odd looks. Andrew explains, “It’s a series, there are a lot of Star Wars movies.” 

The tips of Neil’s ears go red, but Andrew suspects he is the only one who notices. “Oh. Well, I don’t know anything about it, so I don’t really want to see it,” they say, oblivious to the change in mood of the room; Wymack is known for attracting strays, but Andrew doubts anyone was expecting Neil to be this tragic. 

“There’s always next time,” Matt says, rallying. “We should have a Star Wars marathon, though.”

Neil shrugs. “Maybe.” 

The rest of the dinner passes without incident, something for which Andrew is grateful. It is a night of boring small talk; Andrew is really only truly interested when Neil or Bee speaks. He is surprised to find that he cares enough about Neil to want them to have a nice time since Andrew dragged them here. Neil gets along with Matt like a house on fire, and surprisingly, they and Kevin also seem to hit it off. Andrew bites down a spark of jealousy. 

When the night finally winds down, Neil and Andrew are the first to leave. Andrew can see the exhaustion on Neil’s face after socializing all night, so they make their excuses and head back to Fox Tower. 

“Can I stay with you again tonight?” Neil asks once Andrew has stopped the car. “It’s okay if you don’t want me to. I just...” They exhale sharply in frustration. “Why did you ask me to come with you today?”

“It’ll cost you,” Andrew warns. When they nod, he says, “I wanted you to meet my friends. I know we haven’t actually known each other for very long, but you are… important. To me.” When Neil says nothing, Andrew asks, “Why do you want to stay with me tonight?” 

Neil shrugs and tugs on their hair nervously. “I don’t know. I don’t really get, like, people. At all. Or friends, or anything like that. But I get you. And you get me, I think. And I like that. I haven’t gotten tired of talking to you. I don’t want to stop.” 

Andrew feels a burst of something warm and unnameable in his chest. Everything outside of the car feels far away and unimportant; he drinks in Neil’s blue eyes and blue hair and stupid jean jacket and the dark scar on their cheek and asks, “Can I kiss you?” 

Neil freezes. “Why?” 

“Because I like you,” Andrew says. “You can say no.” 

They stare at Andrew with wide eyes for a long moment before whispering, “Yes. Kiss me.” 

Neil is an inexperienced kisser, but Andrew barely notices; their lips are soft and warm, and kissing them feels like nothing he has ever felt before. Andrew feels lightheaded and dizzy with want, but luckily it seems to be reciprocated; Neil lets out helpless little noises that Andrew wants to hear on repeat until he dies. 

Eventually, Neil pulls away and rasps, “We should go inside.” 

Andrew takes a moment to respond, briefly distracted by their red, swollen lips and messy hair, but he nods. “You can stay tonight.” 

Neil smiles. “I want to say hi to Sir and King first, and take off my binder. But thank you.” 

After Neil gets ready, they come back to Andrew’s dorm in a storm of blue hair, pink cheeks, and red lips. They crawl into Andrew’s bed and kiss him senseless. If Andrew believed in heaven, this would be it.

Andrew and Neil kiss, talk, and kiss some more. They don’t drift off until the world around them begins to wake up. 

Andrew falls asleep with his hand entangled with Neil’s between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, kudos, etc. I'm at jonathansimz.tumblr.com. I'm not going to try and give you a timeline for when the next chapter is coming out because I have no clue; hopefully, less than five months this time, but no promises!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back! so much more quickly than last time!
> 
> to preface, i am not done with this au yet! you won't see anything else from this (soon to be) series for a while yet because it's Crunch Time at school but i won't abandon you for five months again. hopefully.
> 
> i would like to thank all of you for your support (and patience) - this au is really special to me as a nonbinary person and i’m glad it resonates with all of you as well. your comments mean so very much to me! anyway, enjoy the final chapter!

Christmas break passes and the new semester begins; Andrew thought the idyllic bliss of his new relationship would dissipate under the pressures of school, but it hasn’t yet. Currently, Neil is trying their best to finish a problem set while Andrew sits on their bed. Neil is wearing one of Andrew’s black sweaters, and while Andrew is happy that they are wearing his clothes, he sort of misses seeing Neil in terrible, headache-inducing colours. Luckily, they are making up for the solid-colour sweater with yellow and green vertical-striped jeans. 

Something Andrew has learned about Neil since the new semester started is that they are a surprisingly dedicated student. They’re smart, too, and passionate; sometimes, they ask Andrew to do a complex calculation on a calculator and then time how long it takes for Neil to do it in their head. 

It’s weirdly attractive. 

What’s more attractive is the reading glasses Neil has to wear when they do homework; they’re gold with circular frames and Neil is constantly pushing them up their nose. It’s adorable. Andrew has been encouraging them to wear their glasses more so their eyesight doesn’t deteriorate, but they both know it’s because he likes how Neil looks in them. 

Andrew likes learning new things about Neil. They always manage to surprise him, from their passion for math and their reading glasses to even stranger things, like how they’re strangely knowledgeable about auto repair and the fact that they despise wearing socks. Andrew finds himself wanting to know everything there is to know about Neil, and giving away pieces of himself in return. 

Neil lets out a frustrated noise. “I forgot to square the twenty seven, I’m going to die, Andrew, now I have to start over this question. It’s the last one, I just want to be done.” They drag out the last word dramatically. 

Andrew cocks his head. “What’s twenty seven squared?” 

Neil gives him a look. “Seven hundred twenty nine, don’t look at me like that. I know you’re into competency but you just do nine to the three.”

Andrew rolls his eyes and doesn’t reply, instead watching as Neil dives back into their work. Even when sitting at their desk, they are a flurry of movement: they tap their foot and chew on their bottom lip and run their free hand through their hair and write at an astonishing speed. It’s distracting in the best of ways. 

“Done!” Neil cries a few minutes later. They take a moment to take their glasses off and carefully put their books away before sitting down beside Andrew, careful not to touch him. Andrew bites down a smile before pulling them closer, relishing the way Neil lights up at the touch. Telegraphing their movements so Andrew can duck away if he needs to, Neil cups Andrew’s cheek in their hand. Their eyes roam around Andrew’s face for a few moments, drinking him in.

“Staring,” Andrew murmurs. 

“So?” Neil replies before leaning forward. 

Kissing Neil has yet to get old; Andrew doubts it will for a long time. Neil has shown marked improvement at kissing in the past few weeks, which is why Andrew lets out an involuntary hiss when they bite on his bottom lip just so. Andrew pulls away for a moment and whispers, “Yes or no?” 

Neil nods, and hesitantly, Andrew settles himself on Neil’s lap, his legs bracketing their (fucking giant, holy shit) thighs. Neil wraps their arms around Andrew’s shoulders and Andrew trails a line of kisses up their jaw. Neil huffs with impatience and captures Andrew’s lips in theirs. Andrew hums and —

King jumps onto the bed. 

Neil sighs and leans their head on Andrew’s shoulder. They gently shove her onto the ground, but the mood is ruined; Neil sighs heavily and lies back on their bed. Andrew crawls off of their lap and lies down beside them. 

“Stupid cat,” Neil mutters, glaring at their cat. “Why can’t I make out with my boyfriend in peace, King? Why do you hate me?”

Andrew feels a twinge in his chest at the word _boyfriend;_ a few months ago, he would never have wanted to be someone’s anything. The word boyfriend has always felt artificial and meaningless, but when Neil says it, Andrew tolerates it. Likes it, even, though he would never admit that. 

“Let’s do something,” Neil suggests. “It’s nice out today.” 

Andrew scoffs. “It’s winter. It’s never nice out, and there’s a snowstorm in the forecast.” 

Neil sticks their tongue out. “You’re too southern. It’s not even that cold out, come on. A new thrift store just opened and I want to go.”

“I’m not contributing to your disaster of a closet,” Andrew says, but he starts to get up anyway. Neil smiles brilliantly and kisses him on the cheek, seemingly without thinking; their cheeks go red. Andrew feels so comfortable around Neil that he sometimes forgets they’re still in the first stages of their relationship.

The thrift shop is rather empty, which Andrew appreciates. Neil meanders around the store for a few minutes before they begin to build a pile of clothes on Andrew’s arm to bring to the changeroom for them. Andrew likes exactly zero of the clothes Neil finds, but their general aesthetic is growing on him. He knows what Neil wears isn’t up to him, and besides, he finds the sheer amount of confidence Neil possesses to let themself be seen in their terrible clothing extremely attractive. 

“Andrew, oh my god,” Neil says reverently. They turn around to reveal a pair of athletic shorts with the words _GUARANTEED TO CONTAIN NOTHING BUT THE PURE SWEET FAT OF THE HOG_ emblazoned on the ass. 

“No,” Andrew says immediately. 

“Yes,” Neil replies, grinning. “If I don’t buy these shorts my life will not be worth living.”

Andrew rolls his eyes. “You’re so weird.” 

Neil shrugs. “You like it.” 

Andrew doesn’t have a reply for that. 

He waits outside of the changeroom while Neil tries on their mountain of clothes. Every so often, they call Andrew inside to ask how something looks, or if he thinks it’s too boring. 

“Andrew,” Neil calls out, “come in here.” Something about their voice sounds off. 

Andrew opens the door of the changeroom to find Neil stuck in a too-tight hoodie. It seems to be stuck on their shoulders. “Help,” they say miserably. “I can’t move.” 

Andrew sighs and tugs on the sweater, trying to make the process as painless as possible. With some patience and a lot of wriggling on Neil’s part, they manage to get them out of the sweater. Neil throws the sweater onto the ground and leans on the door to the changeroom, blocking Andrew’s way out. “My knight in shining armour,” they murmur, biting down a smile. 

“I’m not going to kiss you in here,” Andrew says. “It smells like old people.” 

Neil pouts attractively. “Mean.”

Andrew sighs and presses a chaste kiss to Neil’s lips. Neil kisses him back with a fervour that leaves Andrew breathless before ushering him out of the changeroom. 

Andrew hates them. He really, really does.

After Neil has found what they deem an acceptable amount of clothing, they drag Andrew for another look around the shop to see if there’s anything he likes. Or, that’s what they claim. Andrew always buys new clothing because when he was younger, he was only allowed hand-me-downs and thrifted clothing and wasn't allowed new clothing. Neil is well aware of this; what with their fashion sense, discussions about clothing have come up more than once. For this reason, all of the clothes they ‘suggest’ to Andrew are increasingly absurd.

“I think this one would look great on you,” they say, holding up a baby’s onesie. “It’s all black, so it’ll suit you.” They pause. “Not that colours don’t suit you, you just suck.” 

“I think that’s a size too small,” Andrew says. “But that might just be me.” 

They soon have to leave because Andrew has a room at the dance studio booked for practice. (He really does miss being able to practice whenever he wanted during the break.) Usually, Neil watches Andrew practice when they can. Sometimes they even bring homework to do in the corner of the room while Andrew does his thing. Today, though, they have dinner plans with Matt, so they can’t stay.

Andrew has a complicated relationship with dance; he likes it, he truly does, but sometimes it is hard. It’s not always fun putting his body on display for large numbers of people, and he despises having to let others touch him when he is a part of bigger productions. Still, something that he loves is how it numbs his mind to anything else. When Andrew is dancing, the world around him is as good as invisible. All of his problems disappear for a few minutes. 

That is why he isn’t expecting it when the song ends and he finds Neil sitting on the floor under the barre, a smile gracing their face. Their purple jacket is covered in snow. 

“Matt was throwing up so he couldn’t go out,” they explain. “Do you mind if I stay?”

“Do I mind,” Andrew echoes incredulously. “No. Stay.” 

Andrew takes a break to stretch and drink some water. He watches with amusement as Neil looks at themself in the mirror, playing with their hair and making faces. As if sensing Andrew’s eyes on them, they turn around and glare. “Stop staring,” they say, affecting a comically deep voice.

“Shut up,” Andrew snaps. “I hate you.” 

“You like me,” Neil teases, smirking. “A lot.” 

Andrew sighs. “Why did you come here?” He doesn’t mean it in an accusatory way, or that Neil shouldn’t have come; he’s simply curious.

Neil looks away and shrugs. “Well, I was going to take a nap, but my bed smells like this boy I was making out with this morning and I may have missed him a little.” 

Andrew cocks his head. “You missed kissing him?” Andrew internally scoffs at himself; only Neil could make him talk in third person. 

Neil shrugs. “Well, he’s nice to talk to sometimes.” 

Andrew feels the tips of his ears go red. “He sounds terrible.” 

Neil shakes their head. “He’s okay,” they reply softly. They open their mouth to continue, then close it before finally, they say, “I’m glad you let me stay and watch that first day. Renee says you don’t let anyone watch you dance, usually.” 

Andrew cannot stand being vulnerable or talking about feelings. It makes him viscerally uncomfortable.

Neil might be the exception.

“I felt bad for you,” Andrew says. “You looked like a drowned rat.” 

Neil shrugs. “Maybe. But you still let me in. Look at us now.” They plaster on a fake smile. “Star-crossed lovers.”

Andrew raises an eyebrow. “I think you mean horny teenagers.”

Neil shrugs. “Same thing, right?” 

As he most definitely does _not_ stare at Neil’s stupid face, Andrew has an idea. A terrible, romantic, disgusting idea. He discards it immediately.

“What are you scowling at now?” Neil asks immediately.

Fuck Neil Josten. 

Andrew doesn’t reply, instead standing up and scrolling through his phone until he finds an appropriately slow song. He sticks his hand out and Neil takes it. He pulls them up and asks, “Yes or no?” 

Neil’s brows furrow into a frankly adorably inquisitive expression. “Yes.”

Andrew queues up the song and places a hand on the small of Neil’s back. He puts his other hand on Neil’s shoulder and Neil gets the message, doing the same. 

The song starts, and Andrew quickly learns that Neil is a terrible dancer. They’re barely doing more than rocking back and forth, but Neil manages to stay out of time and uncoordinated. That shouldn’t be surprising considering their multiple injuries in the short time that Andrew has known them, but Neil is spectacularly awful.

“You’re a sap,” Neil murmurs, voice muffled because of how their face is pressed into the crook of Andrew’s neck.

Andrew huffs. “Liar.” 

“Nope.” Neil presses a kiss to Andrew’s jaw. “You just don’t want to admit it.” 

Andrew thinks that this should make him uncomfortable; in the past, he’s gotten annoyed when his hook-ups wanted to stay the night. It goes against his entire personality to commit to a relationship like this, and so quickly. 

But something about Neil is different. 

Maybe it’s their blue eyes, or their blue hair. It might be their disastrous fashion sense or, Christ, their thighs. It could be their reading glasses or their sharp wit or clumsiness. 

When Neil looks up at Andrew and smiles that barely-there half-smile, though, Andrew’s flurrying thoughts still. Maybe Neil is different from the others because Andrew is different now, too. 

Andrew decides that, for now, he doesn’t much care. He holds Neil against his chest and sways to the beat, pressing his face into Neil’s soft hair.

It’s not so bad, all things considered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment, kudos, etc. i’m at jonathansimz.tumblr.com. (you can send me prompts there!) (also, [here](https://throgmortem.tumblr.com/post/190080064920/batbrobeyond) are the shorts i mentioned, thank you for sending them to me asas)
> 
> as a parting note, i would like to remind you all how frustratingly common it is in this fandom (and all fandoms) to run into fics, headcanons, etc by cis authors that are all about trans characters suffering. it is unbearably uncomfortable to have your identity used by others as a tool to create what amounts to torture porn. that’s the main reason i started this fic; i wanted to create an au where neil was trans and it wasn’t a Big Thing. i wanted andrew and neil to have a silly, fluffy, tender romance where neil being nonbinary wasn’t something used to create Angst or an Issue to be Dealt With. and i think i’ve done pretty okay with that! trans people deserve love and happiness and we are actually people on top of being trans! ANYWAY, rant over, i hope you enjoyed this little fic as much as i did. it is very special to me and i hope it was as fun to read as it was to write.

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me at jonathansimz.tumblr.com. If any of you comment about Neil and misgender them, I WILL bring a plague down upon you. On that note thanks for reading and tell me what you thought!


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